Skin Deep (Station Seventeen #1)(54)
“Pardon me. I don’t mean to interrupt your evening,” he said, his platinum cufflinks winking coldly in the overhead light as he extended a well-manicured hand in her direction. “My name is Julian DuPree. I’m hosting tonight’s party.”
Isabella’s stomach pitched like a rowboat on the open sea. “How lovely to finally meet you, Mr. DuPree.” She sweetened the bitter-burnt taste of the lie with a splash of truth and a smile she had to work for. The guy’s stare alone made her skin crawl. “We’ve heard all about you and your gatherings. You certainly don’t disappoint.”
“That’s very kind, Miss…?”
“Isabella,” she said, biting past the urge to gag—or worse yet, punch him directly in the perfect white teeth—as DuPree lifted her hand to his mouth.
A move Kellan cut short with an unsubtle clearing of his throat. “Walker.”
DuPree’s clean-shaven jaw tightened just enough to be visible, hardening the edges of his smile. “Yes, well.” He lowered Isabella’s hand. “My security specialist has told me you’re quite the jealous type. It’s good to see I haven’t been misinformed.”
“I like control,” Walker grated, and damn it, if this quick exit turned into a testosterone-fueled pissing match, she honestly didn’t know which of them she would strangle first.
But much to Isabella’s shock, DuPree laughed. “I understand perfectly. And with a companion like Isabella here, how could you not?” He paused, raking her with a gaze that made the feather-fine hairs on her arms stand at full attention. “At any rate, I must apologize. I would’ve introduced myself sooner, but I saw you were chatting with Angel, and I wanted to give you three a chance to get to know one another. Was she not to your liking?”
Dread exploded in Isabella’s chest. “Oh no, quite the opposite,” she said, forcing her words to a slow, steady drawl. This guy might be a creeper of the highest order, but he was shrewd. Calling too much attention to Angel would trip his trigger, no doubt. “We found her very eager to please.”
“And yet you didn’t take her into a private room to play.”
Thank God for fake bathroom quickies. “Of course, we considered it, but…” Isabella leaned forward as if confiding a secret even though she’d rather cuddle up with Hannibal Fucking Lecter. “Angel inspired us to get creative. Walker and I decided to play in a private room on our own.”
She aimed a pointed gaze at the hallway leading to the bathroom, where she’d bet her next six paychecks DuPree had seen her go with Kellan on her four-inch heels.
“I know the powder room is a little unconventional.” Isabella paused just long enough to let a manufactured smile unfold over her face. “We came here looking for a third, but we got so caught up in the moment. We just couldn’t help ourselves. Surely that happens at this type of party, doesn’t it, Mr. DuPree?”
He straightened, lean shoulders coiling tight beneath his navy blue suit jacket, and for one pulse-rattling second, Isabella thought he’d call her bluff six ways to Sunday. Kellan must’ve made the same logic leap, because he tensed ever so slightly beside her, and oh God, oh God oh God. She had everything she needed to get the FBI to investigate this bastard. She had not come this far only to get busted twenty yards shy of the goddamn door.
But then DuPree stepped back, gesturing to the wide expanse of the living room around them. “Yes, of course. Impulse can be so difficult to deny.”
“I knew a man like you would understand.” Isabella pinned her very best sexy smile to the words, sealing them into place to cover her relief.
Thankfully, DuPree bought every word. “Well, I won’t keep you from indulging those impulses further. Do enjoy the rest of your evening, and please. Feel free to take that third when you’ve regained your energy. I wouldn’t be a good host if I didn’t see you…fully accommodated.”
“We’ll keep that in mind,” Walker said, his smile all teeth.
Isabella lifted her lashes at DuPree to soften the sting. You got what you came for. Play the part. Get out the door. “We certainly will. Thank you.”
“It’s my pleasure, I assure you. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you both again quite soon. Isabella.” With one last up and down look, DuPree turned on his polished heels and moved his way through the crowd.
Holy hell, she’d done it. She’d found a victim willing to make a statement. She was going to make sure none of these women ever got hurt again.
She was going to take this asshole down.
After a beat, then two, Kellan sent a covert glance over the party-goers, still caught up in every possible level of debauchery. “DuPree just went through the service door at your three. Path to the door is clear,” he murmured.
“Copy that. Let’s get the hell out of here. I have to be at work bright and early tomorrow.”
13
Kellan waited until he and Isabella were a block and a half away from the Metropolitan before he allowed himself the luxury of relief. Between the endorphins from their kiss and the anger-laced adrenaline at their getaway conversation with DuPree (holy hell had Kellan wanted to smash the guy’s face in. Smarmy bastard), he was so redlined on emotion that getting it all to fit into the boxes in his chest was a mountain-sized chore.